


Chosen One

by Jaune_Chat



Series: Blackhawk's Choice [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Clint Barton, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Explicit Consent, F/M, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 15:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanov never goes into heat unless she wants to.  And when she does, she wants the best alpha around to care for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [a prompt at avengerkink](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16019.html?thread=35557011#t35557011): Natasha goes into heats. Usually she will take meds, ignore the cycle, and just get on with her life. Nobody bothers her, nobody makes assumptions, and everything is cool. 
> 
> But sometimes she gets the urge to let the heat go through, and on these occasions she'll let Clint unleash his alpha side and take care of her through the heat. Because sometimes even the most badass of badasses needs to relinquish control to someone else for a little while. 
> 
> Bonus for dominant Clint and/or knotting.

Avenging didn't happen on a schedule. Yes, sometimes there were warning signs, because people that made the kind of attacks that required the Avengers were generally not the most subtle of beings. But more often than not it was calls at 3am, or breakfast, or in the middle of a shower, or at the end of a long day when your entire body was crying out for sleep. Supervillains could be very inconsiderate that way.

But despite that, Avenging did seem to come in waves. And like every wave there was an ebb. No telling how long that ebb would be, but every bad guy never attacked in the same week. Probably against the Supervillains' Union, Clint privately thought.

In that ebb, if everything else lined up, sometimes the Avengers could catch a break. If you timed things right, you could manage a vacation, a visit to the family (if you had one), catch a show or a play, go sightseeing, have a spa day...

Or take heat leave.

Natasha could be subtle. She could be unbelievably subtle. She could train someone through countless little hints over the course of weeks or months, until they were dancing to her tune and thinking it was all their own idea.

Or she could leave her unused suppressant shot on Clint's bedside table, circle her heat cycle on his calendar, and leave herself in his bed, covered up like a present waiting to be unwrapped. 

If any villains dared to make their move early, Clint was going to try Stark's new repulsor-powered arrows and to hell with safety protocols. He'd rip any would-be world-conqueror apart with his bare hands in the most caveman-like display of alpha rage this side of a pissed-off Hulk if they interrupted this moment. Natasha rarely did this, rarely let herself go into heat, and with her job no one could blame her, but when she let it happen... it was a gift he never failed to appreciate.

He pulled the covers slowly down, revealing her nude body, creamy skin flushed with arousal, pale pink running down her throat to her chest and belly. Clint felt his heart speed up as he flung the rest of the covers away, her legs slightly splayed to show the bright, slick pink of her sex, the color vibrant in heat. Her thighs glistened slightly, and dewdrops of moisture clung to the curly dark red hair covering her mons. Her scent had become rich, dark, a siren song for any nearby alpha.

And as always, she’d chosen Clint.

He felt a low, territorial growl rumble in his chest as he crawled over her, leaning in low to smell her before running his tongue over her neck in prelude to a gentle bite. She made a mewling sound and leaned into it, tilting her chin up and baring her throat. He let one hand drift down, feather-light over a breast, across her stomach, through the springy curls, and into her slick, heated core. He dipped two fingers inside, testing, and then thrust a little harder at feeling her incredible heat.

“You’re so ready,” he said, letting go long enough to put his lips next to her ear. “You feel fantastic.” He pushed his fingers in harder, faster, his pants getting downright painful at the scent that rose off of her in waves. She was dark chocolate, cognac, and caviar, decadent fire and rich enough to kill for. “Good girl.” Right now, in this moment, she’d accept that from him; Natasha would be his good girl as she was for no one else. No one but him.

Natasha threw her head back as he kept thrusting his fingers, her long red hair splaying out like a sunburst across the pillow. “Fuck, I need you,” she moaned. “Need you, Clint. Please, please…”

He pushed his fingers in hard and stilled, crouched over her with his teeth set in her shoulder, desperately trying not to just expire on the spot. That she would say that to him, let herself be so vulnerable, so open, it nearly floored him. He struggled out of the rest of his clothes, reluctantly taking his hand away from her only long enough to get naked. 

She was crying out in desperate need, a rhythmic near-sob that pulled on every alpha instinct he possessed, and Clint’s growl went from soft to loud enough to nearly echo. 

_“Mine,”_ he snarled, lined himself up, and pushed fully inside her in single smooth motion. He lifted her with his arms like she was light as a feather, a doll for him to use as he saw fit, and held her close as he fucked, deep and thorough with every stroke. She arched into him, letting him bounce her, softly crying out in pleasure as he worked her body over. 

“Yes!” Her hair was the rich red of blood, the light splintering from it in ruby sparks as she shivered in her need. She clutched at him in desperation, and he responded by pulling her even closer, tighter, harder, giving her what she wanted from him and him alone. “Yes, Clint, please…”

He groaned and pulled her down, stilling his hips so he could suck on her nipples, occasionally using teeth when she squeezed hard around him. She clung to him, hands that had killed efficiently and often now just trying to drag herself closer, hold him tighter. She was chasing his knot, burning with need, and Clint had never _wanted_ her so much as he did right now. Natasha was shaking in his arms with more than just the tension of her approaching orgasm, but with its inevitability. She couldn’t stop now even if she wanted to, and Clint was going to be the one to bring her through it.

He tightened his grip and held her still, poised on the cusp, her body arched like a bow, mouth open in a silent scream that he claimed and swallowed. Natasha made a tiny sound in her chest, a little begging noise that he rewarded her with a single shallow thrust and one word, “Now.”

The bow snapped and she soared as Clint’s knot swelled, coming hot and hard inside her. She was solidly in the cage of his arms, trembling as waves of release wracked her, wrecked her, left her gasping and limp and defenseless against the solid heat of Clint inside her. He shifted his grip slightly as she rested her head on his shoulder, less cage and more cradle as he laid her down on the bed with him.

Right now she was sleepy and pliable, his beautiful omega, his lover, his friend. He brushed her hair away from her face and let his hand follow the length of her body, curving her against him just _so_. Perfect. Her eyes fluttered open once, and he kissed her bared neck, tasting the sweat from her heat just beginning to cool, and scraped very delicately with his teeth. 

Natasha looked up at him with trust, her eyes huge and dark, and Clint kept one arm tight around her, protecting her from the world, keeping her for himself. Just like they both wanted.


End file.
